The Loss of Naiveté
by dormienticaputdraconis
Summary: Bilbo went on the adventure to find his courage, but Aneira was gifted with hers since childhood. While she lacked nothing in audaciousness, she was niave as a child. Yet it was not her Tookish courage, nor her odd looks that set her apart from her home-loving hobbits. Rather, a wisdom that exceded her years (full summary inside)
1. Chapter 1

Summary: Bilbo went on the adventure to find his courage, but Aneira was gifted with hers since childhood. While she lacked nothing in audaciousness, she was niave as a child. Yet it was not her Tookish courage, nor her odd looks that set her apart from her home-loving hobbits. Rather, a wisdom that exceded her years. Perhaps it was this wisdom that earned her the place an odd, ragtag company of dwarves, looking to reclaim their homeland. Though she was niave, she was not ignorant. Join Aneira and the dwarves in their adventure full of comraderie, mutual growth, and thrilling danger. Perhaps, in this adventure, Aneira's gifts of wisdom and courage will mature and blossom to create a young woman, strong and full of virtue. One that may, in time, earn the love of a particularly headstrong dwarf.

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**Chapter 1: New Beginnings**

Aneira ran in a flurry down the path causing an occasional traveler to pause and mildly stare at the wild youth. Aneira would often cause heads to turn wherever she went, and not for the reason most young girls did or should. She was dressed in a long sleeved cotton shirt, same as the men wore, with puffed long sleeves and a lace up the chest that was loosely tied. It was fairly big on her slight frame, causing it to slip off her shoulder, baring her white skin. She wore trousers that were held up with suspenders, crisscrossing across her back. The trousers stopped at her knees, leaving her calves, ankles, and feet bare. She went barefoot in true hobbit fashion, but with one exception. She did not have their trademark hairy feet. Her own were like a human's or an elf's, small and delicate, but scarred and calloused from years of running free in meadows, skipping stones, and leaping fences. Though she did not have hairy feet, she did have their pointed ears. Her frame was slight and delicate, not stout as many hobbits tended to be. She was considered small, even for hobbit terms. Despite her boyish garb, one could not mistake her gender for her girlish form was unmistakable even in her baggy clothes. Her hair tumbled down to her waist, but she hurriedly braided to the side and over her shoulder, tying it off at her ribcage. A few strands of hair tumbled out of her braid, framing her face along with wispy fly aways that formed a halo around her head when the sun was to her back. Her hair was a fawn brown, but years in the sun had bleached blond strands into it.

Another hobbit trademark she lacked was the mass of curly hair. Her hair fell in waves, but nothing close to the ringlets of the others. Her face was round and soft with big, intense, dark blue eyes shot with hazel, making them appear sea green from a distance, but unmistakably blue when close. Her eyes were framed with long, black eye lashes, giving them the appearance of a china doll as they contrasted greatly with her porcelain white skin, which, by some miracle, had stayed pale despite the sun's piercing rays. Her lips were soft and full, following the lines of her gentle face. Her chin was small and determined and jutted out when she was set on something, which was very often. Her nose was snubbed and delicate while her cheek bones were unpronounced and childishly soft. She had an irrefutable reputation amongst her peers as she was a natural leader with a rather frightful temper. Despite this, she had a truly good and rare heart underneath the impish exterior. She defended the weak and protected the young, making her a huge favorite amongst the youngsters.

She taught herself well with a knife, but she detested much violence and never resorted to it unless completely necessary. Her specialty was her honey tongue and sticky fingers. She could talk her way out of any situation and talk anyone she wanted _into_ a situation while her small, delicate fingers could snatch things faster than the blink of an eye.

At the moment, she flew down the trail. Her small feet barely made a sound as they pounded down the dirt path. Hobbit holes with well-tended gardens and homey picket gates disappeared behind her as she ran towards Bag End. She bounded over a cart, the driver's annoyed outburst falling on deaf ears. She moved on without so much as stumbling.

She rounded the corner and ran up the avenue of nicer holes, but suddenly something she did not expect met her eyes. It was a dark evening, but she could just make out, with the help of a lit porch-lantern, the form of about five or eight dwarves huddled on Bilbo's doorstep with a bent over old man, who she identified as a wizard with his pointed hat, leaning on a staff behind them.

Her sharp reflexes saved her and she skidded to a stop by digging her heels into the dirt at the same time as the door opened, sending golden light from inside pouring out into the dark avenue. The dwarves all fell in a heap at poor Bilbo's feet. At the same time as they fell, she dived off the road, turning an acrobatic summersault and hiding behind a hedge. She peered around it and saw the wizard's keen eyes searching around her hiding place. She knew her quick escape must've made some sound, but luckily the wizard seemed not to think any more of it and turned back towards the door. Aneira watched with mirth as she made out Bilbo's astounded face. She guessed that he had no more idea of their visit than she did. Poor Bilbo! But she could not help a giggle bubble up in her chest.

Suddenly it dawned upon her. The wizard was Gandalf! Of course! How could she not remember? He was the only wizard to bother with peaceful, agricultural, and boring, in her opinion, hobbits of her race. She waited a moment after they disappeared inside to mull over the mystery. No doubt Gandalf was behind this, meddlesome wizards! But what was the exact meaning of it? She pushed her original purpose to the back of her mind and became determined to find out what the mysterious appearance of wizards and dwarves on poor Bilbo's doorstep. Her small chin jutted out as it did when she was determined.

She stayed put for a long time, chewing her bottom lip. She needed to get inside without being noticed if she wanted to find out what was going on. Of course, this would normally be a cinch, but now that numerous dwarves were crawling all over Bilbo's house and a keen eyed wizard, her chances of not being spotted instantly plummeted.

She was about to step out and try her luck when she caught a movement in her peripheral vision. She ducked back into the shadows and watched another dwarf stump by. He was obviously lost by the way he peered around him as if looking for something. He walked right past Bilbo's house. She crept forward stealthily. Here was her chance! If she got him close enough to Bilbo's house, then she was sure she could sneak inside.

Aneira was even quieter than the normal hobbit and she passed with no more sound than a shadow. She let the dwarf wander for about five more minutes before deciding it was time to step in.

She waited till he was under lamp light to approach him as not to startle him. She walked boldly out of the shadows, purposefully crunching the gravel under her feet for if she walked normally he still would not have heard her.

Sure enough, at the sound of approaching footsteps, he whipped around. She sauntered into the pool of lamplight with a reassuring grin twisting her rosebud lips. Despite being a dwarf, she had to look up to him, and what she saw made her falter for a moment. He had such a regal appearance, she felt every thought in her head fly to the corners of Middle Earth. He had a stern face with demanding blue eyes that obviously expected to be obeyed. His black hair tumbled to his shoulders in waves, streaked with silver. His face and bearing were poised, far above the coarse exterior she would have looked for in a dwarf. He was what many would consider handsome, but to her, he was what she would call a good leader, for even his presence was affirming.

Her own eyes widened a moment in surprise, but she covered it so quickly he did not notice.

"Out for an evening stroll, or are you planning on wandering around lost for the rest of the night?" she asked with a touch impudence coloring her tongue, as it always did.

"That, child, is none of your concern," He said sternly with a frown between his dark eyebrows. His voice was commanding and resonant, it rumbled from deep in his chest. It took all her self-control to remain carefree. She smiled innocently up at him, covering her smoldering anger at the demeaning use of the word child.

"No, very true, but I suspect I could save you the trouble of looking like a dog searching for his tail," she replied, knowing exactly how her words ribbed him. His eyes narrowed dangerously.

"You know not who you speak to waif. If you were any other person, you would have to have a lesson taught to that impish tongue of yours."

"Yes, I'm sure," she giggled. She spent much time listening to tales and gleaning as much information from travelers as she could about the outside world that she understood the crest on his cloak most likely belonged to that of some royal house. "And if you were anyone else, I would have taught you a lesson for calling me child, waif, and imp. But as I am a forgiving person, how about I show you to your destination?"

She saw his face remain placid at her complete disrespect, yet she did not let it fool her. Underneath the cold mask, she knew there was a fire that would scorch any who ventured to antagonize beyond the bounds of his patience. She let a giggle slip, knowing he was likely never talked to in such a manner. She could hardly believe her own audacity, but adrenaline rushed through her veins, making her light headed and a little hysterical, not to mention recklessly sure of herself. She turned heel and started to walk off in the opposite direction.

Suddenly, she heard a movement behind her. She had spent enough time running from enraged hobbit venders (whose goods she had snatched) to know what came next. She skipped to the side, turning to look behind her at the same time. The dwarf grasped at air where she had been a fraction of a second ago. But his next move caught her by surprise. He reciprocated faster than she would ever have given him credit for. He swung around and caught her wrist in an iron grip.

Her muscles protested, wishing her to escape his grasp. But she knew this would only provoke more of his wrath on her, so she stood there calmly with the same grin on her face, acting like she meant for him to catch her.

"Where are you going?" he growled.

"To show you to Mr. Baggins' house of course," she shrugged. Then his did barely narrow at that statement. _Ah, this must be a secret meeting then_, she thought to herself, _perhaps some sort of quest or other_.

"How did you know?" he questioned in a deceptively calm voice, but she heard the dangerous undertone. Putting aside the chill down her spine, she laughed lightheartedly.

"It's not hard to miss at least five dwarves and a wizard standing on Bilbo's front door step," she giggled again at the thought. Of course, she would not reveal too much information. Only enough to get him to follow her to Bilbo's house, and absolutely no more. She waited, trying to keep her mind on her task and not to be distracted by his hand around her wrist. It was no soft hobbit's hand, nor was it any lean man's hand. It was a dwarven hand, its finger's far thicker and squatter than any man's and the palm more calloused and toughened than any farmer's. The muscle which gave him an iron grip in his hand extended to what slight part of his forearm she could see, and she saw just his wrist was double the width of her hand, which was completely dwarfed in his own.

He stared at her dubiously for a moment before releasing his grip. "So what were you doing roaming around a dark avenue in the middle of the night?"

She rubbed her wrist a little ruefully. The dwarf's grip was strong, _very_ strong. "How many times must I remind you? I'm not a child, _dwarf_, and I can do as I please," she snorted. He flicked his demanding blue eyes over her, assessing, absorbing, and contemplating her. A look that could only be described as slight amusement crossed his face. She knew he was thinking how young she probably seemed. She shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny, a new sensation for her. She felt his overwhelming power and command. It felt as if it came from generations of lineage, of which he took great pride in. All she knew she was meant to stay put until he had finished with her. It was a most uneasy feeling. Finally he spoke and she visibly relaxed.

"Either you are an extremely small woman, or no more than a scamp," he waved away her retort, "but no matter. Come, show me the way! I weary of this night."

Aneira turned obediently and began to walk spritely up the path with a pixie-like grace. She felt the dwarf's guarded eyes boring into her back before she heard his footsteps crunch behind her. His strides were long and sure, and he caught up with her with no effort. Aneira felt his presence next to her, but ignored it as she lifted her nose and inhaled the smells around her. A hobbit's well-tended herb garden shot the air with a spicy perfume while sounds of music and laughter mixed with the smell of good ale and freshly baked bread wafted out of a tavern. Flowers and grass mingled together, causing the fresh scent of spring to saturate the night air.

The dwarf watched her keenly. He noticed her abnormalities. The absence of the trademark hairy feet, the loss of the mass of ringlets, her garb. He found the last especially remarkable. What girl would be allowed to wear such an outfit? Were hobbits so quaint that they did not care for the usual dress edicate, or was this girl simply a rebel? He guessed the latter from her speech to him earlier. Though his pride had suffered a beating, he would not deem himself low enough to trade punches with the waif. He noticed how, even for a hobbit, she was small. The very top of her head only reached around his nose and her slim waist was twice as small as his.

He also saw how she moved. It was with a wild grace and fluid movements that she walked, like one used to no constrictions. Her snub little nose and mocking blue eyes were intriguing, but to him, it was like he was merely observing a piece of nature or a stubborn colt; with no emotion what-so-ever. You must not think too badly of him, for from his perspective, here was a rustic hobbit of the Shire, and of no more consequence to him than either of the things listed above.

Aneira had almost the exact same attitude towards him. Here was her bargaining chip to enter inside Bilbo's house without being spotted, and other than that, she could care less who strode beside her in the dark night.

Not a word was spoken as they both kept to their own thoughts. Finally, Aneira rounded the corner and Bag End came in sight. She opened the gate for herself, mindlessly letting it fall shut, almost banging the dwarf behind her in the process if he had not caught it with a stream of curses muttered under his breath. She strode forward nonchalantly with a malicious grin on her face. She wiped it off, however, as she trotted up the steps and swung around to look down at him.

She spread out her arms, motioning grandly to their simple surroundings of Bilbo's quaint, little garden, "Here, my dear dwarf, is your destination and none other than the most esteemed home of one of the most worthy hobbits of the Shire, Bilbo Baggins." Her eyes twinkled mischievously, "I trust he is aware of your arrival. At least, just as aware as he was of the others."

The dwarf (though she barely thought of him as one, for his regal bearing was so off putting to her former concept of a coarse people) bounded up the steps and paused before her. To her surprise, he turned to her as an after-thought and bowed courteously, "My thanks to you, _lady_," he stressed the word mockingly. She clenched her teeth irately. "I would not have been able to find this place without your assistance. Please accept my grateful thanks."

His tone obviously meant that she was dismissed. To his amusement, but not surprise, she planted her feet stubbornly and placed her hands on her hips, staring up at him with more sauce than he had ever seen someone dare give him in many a long year. "Actually, I had some business with Mr. Baggins this fine evening and I would rather not delay it, for it is a matter of pressing urgency."

He passively raised an eyebrow and replied with such mock respect that she narrowed her eyes, "You sound well acquainted with said hobbit, may I ask your relation?"

"Ah, you see, Mr. Dwarf, Bilbo Baggins is also a Took. He is the son of Belladonna Took, my great aunt, making him my—"

"Yes, yes," the dwarf waved hurriedly, effectively cutting her off. She felt a mischievous grin tug at the corner of her lips. Hobbits had an acute love of family history and nearly all hobbits of the Shire were related in some way, shape, or form. "But I am afraid that whatever matter was so pressing will have to be dealt with later. This hobbit has a rather—pressing matter to attend. Good night my lady, and don't forget to keep safe on the way home. One never knows what scoundrels will be out at night." With that, he turned away from her and banged heavily on the door.

"Indeed, as if I wasn't talking to one right at this moment," she muttered venomously, under her breath. Just then, the door opened to a stream of golden light and she dove sideways before she could be seen. Luckily for her, soft moss caught her fall in the shadows, and she turned another summersault before flattening herself against the wall and practically inside one of Bilbo's creeper plants.

"Gandalf," she heard the dwarf' deep voice announce quietly in greeting, though not surprise, "I thought you said this place would be easy to find. I lost my way, twice. Wouldn't have found it at all if it hadn't been—"

Here he broke off and she guessed he missed her for the first time. She peered through the screen of leaves and saw his eyes darting over the garden. She held her breath as they flicked over her hiding spot, but her art in the ability to disappear was not wasted and he did not see her.

Quickly recovering, he resumed his sentence, "—for that mark on the door."

"Mark? There is no mark on that door! It was painted a week ago!" She heard Bilbo's flustered voice before the door slammed shut and the rest of the conversation was lost to her. She slumped back, momentarily defeated and cursing the dwarf who had outwitted her her prize. _What mark on the door?_ _How did I not see it? The dwarf obviously didn't want ME to see it as he had kept its existence unknown. This is enticement enough for me to find out what it is. _After a moment, she eased out of her hiding place and started making her way, completely silent, to the door. Sure enough, glowing faintly in the starlight was a rune that she could not understand, but it obviously was of importance to this little company.

She pressed her ear up to the crack of the round door, closing her eyes and listening intently. The voices were remote and distant, judging from their direction she guessed the company was in Bilbo's dining room. She lowered herself to the ground of the porch and pressed her ear against the crack of the door above the ground and then listened intently for sounds of footsteps. The occasional thrumming of the dwarves' heavy boots stirring on the floor and the rasp of shifting chairs was all she heard, suggesting they were all meeting around Bilbo's dinner table, placing them right where she had estimated. None would be in the hallway, and as long as she opened the door silently, there was no danger of her being discovered.

She set about oiling the iron hinges of the old door. She noticed the paint was indeed fairly new, and she recalled Bilbo's exasperated complaint. No doubt it irked the dear hobbit to have his painstakingly painted beautiful green door. She grinned a little wickedly. It did him good to be stirred up a little.

_No matter, he can repaint it eventually. Focus on your task_, she reminded herself mentally. After greasing the hinges with oil and a cloth she kept handy inside her pocket, she then added oil on the edges of the doorknob so it would not rasp as she turned it.

Taking a deep breath, and praying to Manwe that they had not locked the door (for this would make her job much more difficult), she slowly eased the door open. It slid forward with only the slightest groan that she knew would not be heard from the dining room. She only had to crack it open the slightest bit for her to be able to slip in.

Swiftly and silently, she shut it behind her before whisking down the hall and diving into the shadows of Bilbo's parlor. She then softly padded into the kitchen and hid behind the corner of the doorframe that turned into Biblo's dining room.

_"What do the dwarves of the Iron Hills say? Is Dain with us?"_ Aneira heard a deep, masculine voice question.

There was a pause, as if everyone was holding their breath to the answer. She found herself inadvertently doing the same thing. Leaning forward, she listened intently to be sure she caught the answer.

To her surprise, the dwarf she had met outside (she did not know his name, and she realized he had probably meant for that to be as it was. She remembered with satisfaction that he did not know hers either) responded, "They will not come."

The sighs and groans emanating from the company made her want to groan along with them, even though she had no idea what they were talking about.

"They say this quest is ours and ours alone," he continued.

"You're… going on a quest?" Bilbo's voice cut through the dwarf's explanation in a stutter. Aneira could just see the dwarf's look of mild annoyance and she bit back a smile. Then her active mind began to unravel what was happening. Obviously this was some kind of secret meeting (explained earlier by the dwarf's reluctance to speak about it) and he was the _leader_ of this expedition! Not that it overwhelmingly surprised her. He commanded such a presence that any doubt of his leadership was undeniably obliterated.

"Bilbo! My dear fellow," the Wizard, Gandalf, exclaimed as if awakening from deep thought, "let us have a little more light."

_Here it comes!_ Aneira thought excitedly_, now I shall finally see what this quest is about_! She quickly snuck a peek around the corner and saw how the dwarves were situated. She noticed how all their attention was towards the front of the table, giving her the perfect opportunity to slip in, unnoticed. She quickly did so and squeezed into the corner behind a blond and a dark haired dwarf sitting side-by-side. She peered through the darkness of the corner to the Wizard.

Gandalf reached into his wide sleeve and pulled out a map as he spoke, "Away to the east, over ranges and rivers, woodlands and wastelands, lies a single, solitary peak."

"The Lonely Mountain," Bilbo sounded out as he leaned over the dwarf's shoulder with the candle he had retrieved.

"Aye, Oin has read the portents, and the portents say it is time," a loud, redheaded dwarf spoke up. He was exactly as she had imagined dwarves, loud, red-faced, coarse, and jolly. His statement elicited groans as if it were a pop quiz on Monday in one of our schools. Her eyes flicked to another dwarf who held an odd hearing contraption to his ear. She guessed he was deaf.

"Ravens have been seen flying south as it was foretold." His voice dropped lower and he seemed to be quoting some text, "when the birds of yore return to Erebor, the reign of the beast will end."

"What… beast?" Poor Bilbo questioned, looking rather disturbed. She did not fault him. All this talk of ominous beasts and lonely mountains would make the stoutest hobbit quake in his little boots. It did not frighten her though, oh no, she became more and more thrilled with each word that was spoken. Deep in her heart was kindled the fierce desire to see such places, to experience such dangers, and to overcome such obstacles. Right then and there, she set her mind and will to accompany these (rather ridiculous in her opinion) dwarves on their journey, no matter what it took to pull this off.

"Well that would be a reference to Smaug the Terrible, chiefest and greatest calamity of our age," a dwarf with a funny looking hat spoke up. "Air bourn Fire Breather: teeth like razors, claws like meat-hooks. Extremely fond of precious metals," he listed off matter-of-factly.

"Yes I know what a dragon is," Bilbo interrupted him with a strained smile, which was more of nervous pull at the lips, as he cracked his knuckles.

Suddenly, the youngest looking dwarf of the entire group stood up and pushed his chair back defiantly. "I'm not afraid! I'm up for it! I'll give him a taste of the dwarfish iron right up his jacksie!" he shouted out. Aneira saw the brave face he was putting on to appear courageous in front of his companions, but she also knew that in a few months' time his courage would be tested to its very limit, as would hers.

His statement was greeted with cheers and a couple of _good lad_'s from the more reckless members, but an older dwarf pulled the youngster down back to his stool with a, "sit down!"

Aneira immediately knew this dwarf had a more realistic and seasoned view of this venture, making her like him instantly.

"The task would be difficult enough with an _army_ behind us, but we number only _thirteen_! And not thirteen of the best, nor brightest," the white haired dwarf added the last part with a quirk of his eyebrow in the lead dwarf's direction and they shared a look. Aneira could tell they were great friends and had been through many a battle together by that one look. This leader seemed to be unapproachable by any who he deemed weak or undeserving, but she could tell by one glance that there was a deep, mutual respect for the other.

"Hey! Who are you calling dim?" someone shouted. Arguments broke out and voices started to be raised. Aneira blew out her breath and rolled her eyes at this. _Yes, we'll get very far with THIS Company_.

The blond dwarf directly in front of her pounded his fist down to get their attention and emphasize his next words. "We _may be_ few in number, but we're fighters, all of us, to _the last dwarf!"_

The dark haired dwarf, who she suspected to be his brother from the way they seemed attached at the hip, spoke up as if finishing his brother's sentence. "And you forget we have a _wizard_ in our company. Gandalf must have killed _hundreds_ of dragons in his time."

She saw he spoke with energy and the shortness of his years came through in his enthusiasm. She couldn't help but let a smile tug at her lips. She knew that they were going to get along.

"Well, now… I… I wouldn't say—" Gandalf started while motioning his pipe to subdue the murmurs of agreement that were rising.

"How many then?" the same dwarf that had pulled the young one down questioned.

"Eh, what?" the Wizard replied, but she had an inkling that it was more of a way to stall than that he had actually not heard the dwarf's question.

"How many dragons have you killed?" the dwarf questioned impatiently. The lead dwarf caught her attention as he turned his eyes to Gandalf with a waiting expression that said "I'm not going to get you out of this one."

The poor Wizard started choking on smoke, failing in words to get himself out of this compromising situation. Aneira had to bury her face in her lap and clap her hands over her mouth to stop from bursting out laughing. How were these dwarves so ignorant that they did not see the signs right in front of them? She became aware of arguing breaking out, over what she did not know, and she suspected none of them really did either.

Suddenly, a deep and commanding voice rang out above all the others. It commanded them in a foreign language, but immediately she felt the call to obey it. Snapping her head up, she listened to what his next words would be as all the other dwarves did.

"If we have read these signs do you not _think others_ will have read them too? Rumors have been spread. The dragon Smaug has not been seen in sixty years. Eyes look east to the mountain, assessing, wondering, weighing the risk." Suddenly, his voice rose in volume as she saw the pent up rage and eagerness over the quest come through in his voice," do we sit back while the vast wealth of our people lies unprotected, or do we _seize this chance to take back Erebor?_"

Shouts of agreement followed this statement, which were silenced by the white-haired dwarf's next statement. "You forget, the front gate is sealed. There is _no way_ into the mountain."

"_That_, my dear Balin," Aneira added the fact that is name was Balin to her head for future reference, "is not _entirely _true." At these words his long fingers pulled up an ancient looking key from what seemed to be his sleeve. By its craft, she saw it most definitely to be dwarvish, for she saw its bluntness and hard, stone lines that it followed the same craft of all those presents' weapons, jewelry, and tattoos.

"How came you by this?" the lead dwarf's awe struck voice came in barely a whisper. She saw by the expression on his face that its worth meant more to him than anything he currently possessed. It put a new light in his eye, a sense of hope in his being. _Yes,_ her cynical thoughts nagged, _he values it possibly more than the lives of all these dwarves._

"It was given to me by your father, Thrain. It is yours now." With these words, the wizard handed over the key. She felt weight of generations of dwarvish history being passed to another heir. It was something she had often thought of in her search for news from the outside world, but she had never thought it would impact her so closely, or be as solemn, as it felt at that moment.

The dwarf's strong, scarred, stubble fingers closed around the key and he brought it close to his chest, his face still overcome with awe. It irked her slightly, that he put so much weight on such temporal things as possessions and heritage. She could easily see that he would go to any measures to safeguard the assurance of both of them.

_What if, someone were to flitch that key? _She thought suddenly. _Would he not bargain many things, such as a place in his company, for it?_ Her quick mind questioned. Before stopping to think of the true consequences of her actions, she ducked under the table, wriggling like an eel underneath the dark haired dwarf's chair.

Above her, she heard the words of the blond dwarf. "If there is a key, there must be a door." She rolled her eyes slightly at his delayed reaction to this information, but she had other matters on her mind. Before her was a maze of iron-shod dwarvish boots. If, while she was crawling amongst them, they shifted too far, they would hit her, and while they might, hopefully, confuse her with a table leg or that of one of their colleagues, she would no doubt gain a large bruise or worse for her troubles. She did not fancy the idea of having her hand ground into the floor.

Once again, above her the voice of the wizard came muffled through the wood. "These runes speak of a hidden passage to the lower halls."

Perhaps, if she could crawl under the chairs, which formed an aisle, she could make it down with nearly no injury.

"There's another way in," the dark haired dwarf's voice came behind her.

She began to wiggle under the stool of the youngest one, hoping that his naivety would loosen his reflexes, rather than the obviously battle hardened ones such as the baled, tattooed one wielding the largest battle-axe she had ever seen. The young never even knew she passed.

Using her forearms as levers, she began slithering her body along under all the dwarves' chairs, feeling perspiration trickle down her temple from the heat of all their bodies and her own exertion. "Well if we can find it!" the wizard spoke above her. "Dwarf doors are invisible when closed. The answer lies somewhere hidden in this map and I do not have the skill to find it, but there are others in Middle Earth… who can. The task I have in mind requires a great deal of stealth, and no small amount of courage, but if you are careful and clever, I believe that it can be done."

Then it clicked in her mind. _Of course! Bilbo! That's why they are here! And he has absolutely no idea!_ Then it also dawned on her. _I don't know what the wizard was thinking, but Bilbo is not up for an adventure. He's a Baggins. He'll never go on adventures. He likes home too much. Me, however, if I can just convince them…_

"That's why we need a burglar!" The youngest said as if revealing a revelation.

"Hmm, and a good one too. Expert, I'd imagine," Bilbo added completely unaware, she guessed, that they were speaking about him.

"And _are you_?" The dwarf she recognized as the hard of hearing (what was his name? Oin) asked.

There was a slight pause coming from Bilbo. "Am I what?" He confirmed her speculation.

"He said he's an expert! Heh hey!" Oin cheered, happily oblivious in his near deafness.

"What? Me? No no no, I'm not a burglar," Bilbo said quickly. His tone of voice made any such notion seem ridiculous. "I've never stolen a thing in my life."

Aneira finally reached the end of the chairs so that she was lying on her stomach underneath the dwarf with the funny hat. Balin spoke next. "I have to agree with Mr. Baggins. He's _hardly_ burglar material."

_Good, good! If they reject him, they'll still need a burglar and I'll be open for the job._ She thought gleefully.

"Aye, the wild is no place for gentle folk who can neither fight nor fend for themselves," she heard the tattooed one speak. Voices started rising and arguments broke out. She peered up and saw the leader of the company, in contrast to his company, looking civilized and regal as he nodded and spoke quietly in agreement, though she could not hear what he said over the raucous of the other, more rowdy dwarves.

Suddenly, a darkness and shadow began to fill the room. It seemed to suck all sound into it and muffle the voices of all the others. It was not a feeling of dread that swept over her, but rather a feeling of power, a power she knew was far greater than her, and whether it was friend or foe, it was still dangerous. It took her breath away. But another thought entered her quick mind, rather out of the blue. _Quick! Grab the key! Grab it! _She had spent so long listening to her inner thief that her muscles overcame their shock of the oppressing shadow and she quickly reached up and gently eased her hand into the pocket of the dwarf. Indeed, there, as she thought it would be, she felt the smooth stone of the key, etched with dwarven runes of ages long past. She grasped it and deftly pulled it free. As she did this, a deep, resonating voice that she thought sounded rather like the wizard's spoke. "Enough! If I say Bilbo Baggins is a burglar, than a burglar he is!"

Just as quickly as it came, the shadow disappeared and Gandalf seemed to shrink back into the old, grey man he always seemed, but she began to wonder. What power was being kept under that ashen cloak?

"Hobbits are remarkably light on their feet," he resumed as if nothing had occurred. "In fact, they can pass unseen by most if they chose and while the dragon is accustomed to the smell of dwarf, the scent of a hobbit is all but unknown to him which gives us a distinct advantage." He addressed Thorin, "you asked me to find the fourteenth member of your company, and I have chosen Mr. Baggins. There's a lot more to him than appearances suggest, and he's got more to offer than any of you know!" Then, he added as if only to Bilbo, "including himself." He turned to Thorin, lowering his voice, "you must _trust me,_ on this."

"Fine, we'll do this your way," Thorin said in prideful resignation. Bilbo started stuttering in poor disagreement, but was silenced by the dwarf's dismissively raised hand and cutting voice. "Give him the contract."

This seemed to lift the spell of quiet that lay over the dwarves. They began relaxing and shifting in their seats as if anxious to be gone. The dwarf with the funny hat who was seated above her spoke enthusiastically, voicing the thoughts of the others. "And we're off!"

The 'contract' was passed to the leader by Balin, with the words, "it's just the normal summary of out-of-pocket expenses, time required, remuneration, funeral arrangements, so forth." And then the leader unceremoniously pushed it behind him and into Bilbo's chest, who was still incredulous, and was barely able to stammer, "funeral arrangements!?"

The leader stood, shifting to speak quietly in Gandalf's ear. The other dwarves were stirring and talking too loudly for her sensitive ears to pick up their low voices. Instead, she clutched the key that was still in her sweating palm. Now that she had time to think over her actions, she wished she could undo them. She had seen the look in the dwarf's eye, and if he thought that his quest could be endangered in any way, she had no doubt he would not be below hurting a child as young as herself. But now she had the key, and she could not put it back in his pocket for fear of detection, so she had to play her pawns carefully if she wanted to win the game. It was a gamble and a risk.

"Ooohhkeyy," Bilbo sighed, unfolding the contract, which was so large and so full of writing, it was bound to baffle any hobbit. "…entails cash on delivery, up to but not exceeding one-fourteenth of total profit, if any. Seems… fair. Ehh, present company shall not be allowable for injuries inflicted by or sustained as a common interest thereof, including but limited tooooo lacerations. Eviceration?" He folded out another page of the document, and upon reading it turned to the company with a disbelieving look on his face. "_Incineration_?"

"Ho aye! He'll melt the flesh off your bones in the blink of an eye," the one with the funny hat stated cheerfully.

Poor Bilbo dropped his hands to his side, nodding his head, yet it looked as if the information was not totally registering in his mind. She could almost see his knees shake. He let out a little sound that might have been a squeaky, "Oh."

"You alright, laddie?" Balin asked, kindly enough to consider the hobbit's comfort.

"Yeah, I'll be…" he trailed off and rested his hands on his knees, breathing out of his mouth heavily. "I feel a bit faint."

Whether the dwarf with the funny hat had no tact, or was simply fooling with Bilbo, Aneira could not tell, but his next words were not helpful. "Think furnace, with wings!"

"Air… I—I—I need air," unfortunate Bilbo stammered, looking unsteady. By this time, the whole company had quieted down and was watching intently.

"Flash of light, searing pain, then poof! You're nothin' more than a pile of ash!" The dwarf seemed cheerful enough, a ridiculous smile on his good-humored face. The room was silent, everyone was waiting to see Biblo's reaction, including Gandalf.

Bilbo took a few deep breathes, trying to steady his pulse, and for a moment it looked like he might have been alright, but looking up, he let out a, "nope," and promptly fell into a swoon.

"Oh, very helpful, _Bofur_," Gandalf said condescendingly. Aneira also remembered this dwarf's name for future reference. Using this chance, she scrambled from under the chairs and nonchalantly leaned against the wall in the dark corner, right next to Bofur, who was cocking his head sideways to look at Bilbo, who was strewn on the rug.

"He doesn't look too well, does he?" she commented, easily mocking Bofur's odd accent. The chatter of the dwarves had started again, easily masking her voice from the others.

"No, not at all," he replied without thinking, letting out a chuckle and glancing at her. It only took a moment, and he turned back to where she had been standing with a, "hey!" but she was already gone.

Balin and Thorin turned at the sound of Bofur's shout. "Is everything alright?" Balin asked. Thorin simply stared with a furrowed brow

Bofur stared at the dark corner stupidly, still mystified. "I could've sworn she was right there!"

"Who?" Thorin's deep voice questioned, urgency coloring his tone slightly.

"A girl, looked like a hobbit maiden. I could've sworn she spoke to me!" He said, completely baffled.

"Ahh, Bofur! You et too meny mashrooms!" Dwalin's loud, thickly accented voice called as he heard the last part of Bofur's statement. "No maiden save your ol' mam would ever talk to you!"

"You're right. Ee's ugly as a toad, that one," a voice light with laughter agreed behind him, also mocking his accent.

Glancing behind him briefly, Dwalin said, "You've got that right, missy!" Then, realization dawned upon him too, and he whipped back around with a shout, but only to meet an empty wall. "She was right there!"

By this time, the other dwarves had started to become aware. A few shouts went up, "Oy! Where is she?" and, "I didn't see any hobbit lass!" "They're seein' things, mate."

"Quiet!" Thorin's deep voice called, as it had before. "She can't have gone far. Look everywhere. Under the table even."

The dwarves started looking about them, and she, from her hiding spot behind Gandalf, knew she would soon be found. Before they could capture her, a daring plan popped into her head, and with her usual compulsiveness, she set about it without another thought.

Darting around Gandalf, she leaped through the space between him and Dwalin, landing as agile as a cat onto the table, wrinkling Bilbo's fine table-runner underneath her small feet. Without further ado, she snatched up the mug out of the hand of the dwarf with the shaggy, red beard, and began to sing and dance.

"_Hey! Ho! To the bottle I go._

_To heal my heart and drown my woe._

_Rain may fall and wind may blow,_

_But there still be many miles to go!_

_Sweet is the sound of the pouring rain,_

_And stream that falls from hill to plain._

_Better than rain or rippling brook_

_Is a mug of beer inside this Took!"_

At first the dwarves had fallen silent, completely shocked at this young hobbit lass who appeared out of thin air. Yet her voice was so sweet, and her feet stamped to a tune so irresistible for any dwarf, all of whom loved good airs, that they soon found themselves clapping and thumping along to her rhythm. Aneira, seeing the good affect her music had already had, launched into another improvised ditty. Although, not before sneaking a glance at the leader. Her element of surprise might have worked on the other dwarves, but not in _him_. He stood with his arms crossed, and face a mask of coldness, not interrupting her, but simply waiting for her to finish, and she dreaded what words would be given her when she did. The feeling surprisingly reminded her of an impudent child who nervously awaits the reprimand of their parent for improper behavior in public.

"_You may search far and wide,_

_You can drink the whole town dry,_

_But you'll never find a bear so brown,_

_But you'll never find a bear so brown,_

_As the one we drink in our home town,_

_As the one we drink in our home town!_

_You can drink your fancy ales,_

_You can drink 'em by the flagon!_

_But the only brew for the brave and truuuue,_

_Comes from the Green Dragon!"_

At the end of her ditty, which she had heard many times coming from the hobbit's beloved pub, the Green Dragon, the dwarves let out whoops and heys and cheers, but she had another trick up her sleeve, literally, and it was in the form of a key. She grasped it, and turning to the leader, easily tossed it to him.

His hard hand flashed out and caught it in a stone grasp, both disbelief and anger were written in his taciturn eyes. His eyes traveled to the key in his grasp, back up to her flushed face. Aneira was breathing heavily, and when his eyes met hers, she winked impishly.

"Might want to keep that in a safer place." She said as unstrained as she could, for her breath was still short.

The room fell silent, and no dwarf moved. All were waiting for either the acceptance or the wrath of their leader. Slowly, he pulled his hand back in and deliberately placed the key back into his pocket. Still no one spoke as Aneira easily jumped down and quietly squeezed behind the chairs of the dwarves to stand next to Bofur's seat, where she could easily be seen by the whole company. And see her they did. Her hair was disheveled, though still in its loose braid, and her face glowing from her exercise, which she had received by doing very unladylike things such as dancing on tables and singing rowdy drinking songs, but she was unabashed.

Slowly, Thorin's eyes moved down to the top of her head, traveling across her appearance, before finally reaching her eyes. The silence was stretching taut, grating on everyone's nerves. They all nearly jumped as Gandalf stood up and said, "Well! That was a surprise, to be sure."

"Indeed," Thorin agreed.

"Well met, once again," Aneira mock bowed. "Though, it appears that this time we are under similar circumstances."

"How so?" he asked, his head dipping slightly and his eyebrow raising.

"I offer you my services, though not as a guide, as a burglar," she replied, her whole demeanor was relaxed and cool.

"You've met before?" Gandalf interjected

"Aye," Aneira replied. "My good dwarf here had the ill fortune of losing his way to Bilbo's house. I merely set him on the right direction."

"And how did you end up in here?" The wizard questioned. He seemed acutely interested.

She crossed her arms and smirked boldly, "that is only a matter of guile and silent feet."

"How much did you hear?" he pressed.

"Your entire plan, of course. I would not offer my abilities so easily if I did not know the details of the job," she said with a sweet smile.

"No job was offered you, nor will there ever be," Thorin stonily voiced.

"Hold up, Thorin," Balin spoke for the first time since the whole affair had started. Thorin and Aneira tore their eyes from each other and both turned to Balin. He ignored Aneira, who was gleefully stowing away the knowledge she had just acquired about the dwarf's name, Thorin, but Balin leaned forward and lowered his voice to Thorin, "you've seen what she's capable of. Far more fearless than the young Bilbo Baggins, and obviously more experienced."

"Are you suggesting we take a fragile and childish schoolgirl into the wilds with us?" He asked, disbelief apparent in his tone, as he unhooked one of his arms from his chest and motioned to her. She did not appreciate that they were discussing her as if she wasn't even there. But one thing was for certain, Thorin seemed no more inclined to take her than he would a small infant.

"I'm saying she's the best of the two options we've got," Balin said, pulling back and placing his hand on his ample waist, but his voice was almost drowned out as many others started talking, and once again, she had no idea what they were saying.

Leaning forward to make sure he could hear her, she whispered at Thorin's shoulder, "Balin sees wisdom. Besides, could I not sneak past a jealous dragon and snitch treasure from right under his nose if I could steal the greatest gift of your heritage from _you_ after you had possessed it for not even ten minutes?"

His eyes blazed as he turned them back to her. She pulled back with laughter in her bright eyes. He did not take well to ridicule or mockery. And while it certainly smarted to receive it from so mischievous a youth, his breeding would not allow him to speak back, for in his eyes she was still a child.

Turning back to his company, he raised his rough voice, "Order!" Immediately the babble died down. His firm hand reached out and grasped Aneira's arm, causing her to squeak, but he paid no attention to her. "Gandalf, Balin, a word. Bofur, Gloin, Oin, take care of the hobbit."

Aneira looked down and saw Bilbo still unconscious to the world. She and all the other had completely forgotten about him. Her mind was quickly dragged from Bilbo when Thorin started walking through Bilbo's hallway, drawing her with him. She yanked her arm back, but his grip was as strong as the iron he must forge. She quickly behaved when his grip pressured and he sent her a cold glare.

He pulled her into one of Bilbo's many parlors, but this one was far enough away from the company that they would not be overheard, though the sounds of their rowdiness could still be easily heard through the walls. Jerking her around, he half pushed half pulled her towards one of Bilbo's plush sofas and released her just in time so she fell, unceremoniously, into it. "Stay," he commanded brusquely, which promptly earned him a glare.

Balin and Gandalf entered right after, and he turned to them. Gandalf spoke first. "Well that was a pretty show back there. Still, I'm sure Bilbo will be alright in the end. Hobbits are made of sterner stuff than most would realize."

"Undeniably," Thorin said sardonically.

Balin turned a sharp eye to Aneira, who was sitting quietly as she had been told, for once. "What about her? Why did you bring her here?"

He looked over his shoulder and down at her, tugging his lips back into a grim half-smile. "I couldn't leave her to her own devices. She's far too slippery for that."

Aneira simply scowled back at him, but stayed silent.

"So what are you going to do with her then?" Balin pressed.

Thorin didn't respond, and she knew why. There was not much he could do. She knew he felt the information she had was far too important to let her out of his sight, let alone leave her back in the Shire, yet he was unwilling to take such a liability with him on a quest in which he had staked so much of his hope. To him, she would be a bigger hindrance than Bilbo. She was female, she was young, even younger than Bilbo, and she would need protecting, as would Bilbo. He had to weigh disadvantages of both, and pick the lesser danger.

Bilbo was a man, more suited and socially acceptable to be taken on a quest, but he lacked courage. Aneira was a girl, and a young, fragile, child, who would need constant support and aid, yet she had courage in spades. But even more importantly, she was an amazing burglar, for her reflexes were quick, her mind sharp, and her fingers sticky. While both knew about the quest, Thorin suspected that if Bilbo was left in the Shire, he would be far more likely to keep the whole adventure to himself and would prefer to ignore it like an old nightmare. The girl, however, could get into all kinds of mischief, using her wits to play the information however she wanted to.

Instead of voicing his thoughts, he turned his gaze to Gandalf. "Well, wizard, it was your idea in the first place. Now how are you going to fix it?"

Rather than facing Thorin, Gandalf turned his keen eye to Aneira. She held the old man's gaze, and it seemed that a dark ember was sparked in his eyes. "You're a Took, are you not?"

"Aye, sir," she responded simply. "Aneira Took."

"I have no memory of you," he stated quizzically.

"I should think not," she snorted in a very unladylike manor, "last you came to the Shire was for Old Took's Midsummer's Eve parties neigh forty years ago. I was not even a twinkle in my mother's eye then."

"Indeed, and how old _are_ you, lassie?" Balin interjected.

Turning her twinkling gaze to him, she waited a moment before responding with humor in her voice, "seventeen, Master Dwarf."

Both Balin and Thorin let out what sounded like a scoff of skepticism at her soft years. No doubt she was a babe in years compared to them, but she simply lifted her head higher and sent both a glare.

Gandalf ignored their protests. "You said you are a Took?"

She suddenly shifted uncomfortably. "Yes, that is what I said, is it not?"

"Then tell me, who are you relations?" Their eyes met and he saw her discomfort. Steeling her eyes to his gaze, she stilled the urge to squirm at his questioning.

"My father is Belladonna Took's second cousin, twice removed, by the name of Falco Took. My mother's maiden name is Maelia Thistlewood, from the family at Tuckborough, before she married my father in Buckland, where they now reside." She answered steadily, but his sharp Wizard's eyes were boring into her own. She knew he could tell she was lying, but whether he would reveal it to the others present was another matter. She held his gaze, trying to message her wish for this to be kept silent.

"So you hail from Buckland?" he asked.

"Yes," she responded tranquilly, although she felt anything but.

"Then what are you doing in these parts?"

"I left to spend a fortnight with Bilbo, my distant relation," she said with a voice that she hoped was easy.

"Hmm," the wizard grunt was all she received in response.

"We cannot leave her here. She is too devious for that," Thorin muttered, his back still to her.

"What if she were to go on the journey then?" Balin reasoned.

"Balin, I would not take a girl into the wilds when she does not know which end of a sword to pick up," Thorin responded, his voice full of condescension, yet it was not petty as condescension tends to be. Rather, it was his realistic view of the facts, and it stung more, for it proved to her that he truly thought her of absolutely no more use than a sack of potatoes. "I would not risk this quest to take care of a child who may or may not be of use before we reach our journey's end, if we even do so before her incompetence kills us all."

"Tis true, t'would be a risk, yet we have thirteen of the company to look out for her…"

The dwarves' conversation slowly trailed into the distance as Aneira and Gandalf held each other's gaze. She was trying to communicate to him what could not be said out loud, yet she did not know how to go about it. So she gazed at him with a plea in her green eyes. A ringing began to build up in her ears that drowned out all other sounds. Gandalf gazed back at her pleading eyes with narrowed ones. He had chosen Bilbo, indeed, and yet another burglar could be of use that he could not foresee. Yet a part of him felt that it was no mere chance that led her to Bilbo's doorstep at this exact night. For some future he could not anticipate, the belief in faith he had always relied upon nagged him once more. Just as he thought Bilbo was meant to go on this journey as a leap of faith, he slowly began to believe the same about Aneira. There was more to her than met the eye, for she was hiding something. Perhaps it would be the same with the quest.

"Let her go," he finally spoke, bringing both of them back to the present. Balin and Thorin looked up from the argument they had been having.

Thorin took a step forward. "Are you mad, wizard? There were to be fourteen members in the company, I never asked you to find a fifteenth."

"Nor did I expect to," Gandalf replied, looking down at Thorin with weary eyes that seemed to see what a task of convincing it would take to change the mind of the stubborn dwarf. "Yet here she is. Bilbo will make an excellent burglar, yet the whole quest lies upon the outcome of his success. Would you not rather have the assurance of double rather than just on the one?"

Aneira winced faintly at the implication. If either of them died, there would be a backup. Slightly pessimist, yet a valid point. They would meet numerous dangers in the wild.

"I've told you already. I can and will not guarantee the hobbit's safety, nor will I hers. Yet you would have my company take the risk of being slowed down not only a home-loving hobbit, but a weak child as well. She is naïve and puerile" Thorin gruffly shot back, his arms crossed across his imposing chest.

Aneira snorted, but was ignored. "Do not be so quick to judge, Thorin Oakenshield," Gandalf warned. "She has already proved a quick wit and silent fingers, and a cunning deviousness beyond that of most jolly hobbits," here Gandalf smiled. "But more than that she has already shown to be audacious. I would not be so quick to assume she will need all your help staying alive. Though she is inexperienced," he admitted, "if she keeps a level head, I have no doubt that she will be more useful than a burden."

"You have already worn my patience, and I allowed this ridiculous burglar to accompany us, but this," he motioned behind him to Aneira, who was still sitting on the couch, "is folly."

As the moments wore on, nerves were tightening. Thorin's harsh words were born from the strain, and Aneira's nerves were slowly grating on her patience. Finally she had had enough of their talking as if she was not present, or as if she was a business transaction. Springing up, a look of annoyance was plastered to her displeased face. "You think, _dwarf_, that I do not understand the dangers? That I will be a burden? That just because I am not of your race, I should not come on a quest of your kin? Aye, I understand that we shall be in the wilds. I understand that we could be captured or killed at any moment, and yet I do not flee. You _need_ a burglar, and while Mr. Bilbo may, in fact, learn his courage upon the way, I would not be so keen as to think he is stronger than I simply because he is male." He had turned towards her and watched her as she seethed. Lowering her voice, she placed a note of earnestness in it. "I understand that you value the quest over any one life, and I lay no responsibility nor expect any protection should I be a danger to it. You have my word."

He stared down at her, and something changed. Not his expression, nor hers, but his impression of her. Perhaps she was young, too young, but he saw something that ran deeper than pure courage or strength. In her eyes was a wisdom that gave her sight beyond her years. Though he was not able to annunciate it so clearly, he felt rather that knew and understood it, and it was enough to change even his thick, dwarven mind.

After a long, drawn out moment of searching her eyes, he finally nodded slowly. "Very well," his voice sounded the same as when he accepted Bilbo, but his next words were more ominous. Turning to walk away, his shoulder was to her, but he was also a step closer. She clenched her fists, feeling very small next to his massive shoulders. "And do not make me regret it."

* * *

**A.N. **Thank you to anyone who read this. The purpose of this fanfiction is not to add just a female presence in the group, or add a love interest to Thorin, as so many do, but rather to have a deeper meaning. I simply used The Hobbit because I love anything written by the genius, Tolkien, but also because it is a theme in his books to have the growth of a character compliment that of another. I wish to do this in my own little way with this writing, but I thought I might as well share it with you all.

The purpose of Aneira is what any adolescent must go through. Growing up. Though this is a much more thrilling version of the tale all of us experience at one point in our lives, this is her story of maturity, and how, when a youth is in the middle of the exciting time of discovering their gifts, they may use them for the better of lives around them. While the dwarves help Aneira, she will also help them throughout the journey, making all characters grow in one way or another.

And no, she is not a hobbit, though that will be addressed later in the story :)

Thank you again for reading! Reviews are wonderful, although I write this for fun, not for critquing. Opinions are always welcome, as well as friendly pointers, but please, no flames or slams on my writing style.

God Bless ~ sunkkised0800


	2. Chapter 2 Goodbyes and No Regrets

**Chapter 2: Goodbyes and No Regrets**

Later that evening, she sat alone in her thoughts in a dark corner of Bilbo's study. Bilbo had been successfully revived and was having a chat with Gandalf. It was deemed private, so the others minded their own business, eating an after-dinner snack, sorting out last minute wrinkles for the journey, or peacefully puffing at pipes. Because it was private, she would normally have been listening, but she found she was in no jovial mood, let alone any mood to practice her nosiness. She was finally leaving, venturing off into an uncertain fate. She had often dreamed of such an adventure, full of daring and honor and courage, but now she felt only apprehension. The self-doubt gnawed at her stomach as she bit her nails, staring out of the round, little glass-paned window and into the starry night. She had always thought she would feel elation, but that was not the case. She was finally leaving the clutches of a life she had long dreamed of escaping, but she wondered if the life she had escaped to was better or worse than her previous one. She was going into danger, and possibly certain death, but adventure as well. That was what she had always, wanted, or so she thought. Now the idea of leaving everything known and safe behind seemed more daunting than it did when she had not yet agreed to the journey. It was like accepting to cliff dive, and then feeling the apprehension and the gathering of one's self before the jump.

_This will not do_, she shook herself angrily. _You have agreed, and you fought for a place. You could not pull out now without looking as a coward. Without proving to the high-and-mighty Thorin Oakenshield that his impression of your weakness was correct._ To calm herself, she began to plan. _I will need to bring provisions. As much as I can carry._ Looking around, she saw a dwarven pack in the hallway. It was enormous, and easily as heavy as she. It would even bring a full-grown man to his knees she did not doubt. Dwarves were short, but they were fantastically strong. She turned her eyes back out the window. No doubt they could carry their packs, but she could never manage one so heavy. She grimaced remembering her only bag. It was moth-riddled and worn, but it would have to serve. She would have to get food—

Her thoughts broke off and she visibly blanched. _She would have to get food_. That would be a colossal feet by itself. The landlady was not a pretty woman, especially when it came to snitching her food. No one, not even Aneira, had dared to flitch so much as a carrot, even if they were starving. Tales long past of children who stole one of her pies, and were never seen again. _Calm down_, she chastised herself, _you are a child no longer. If you can get into the dormitories and get your bags and clothes, than you can simply borrow some of Bilbo's food. At least the dwarves didn't eat ALL of it._

With this determined in her mind, she decided to wait until the dwarves settled down to sleep before slipping off to gather her belongings. Not that she was ashamed, but she did not want to be questioned. So, she curled her knees to her chest and stared out the window, dreaming of the adventures to come and trying to forget her fear.

"It seems we've lost our burglar," she heard Balin in the hallway. She knew he was referring to Bilbo as she sure wasn't going anywhere. A triumphant smirk spread her lips. _I'll wager Oakenshield is glad he has me now_. "Probably for the best, the odds were never in our favor," he continued. Her smirk slid off her face and was replaced by a slightly penitent one. It dawned upon her how often they must have fought against those unfavorable odds. And yet, here they were, though there still was not much hope in their quest.

"After all, what are we? Merchants, miners… tinkers, toymakers. Hardly the stuff of legend," he continued ruefully.

Thorin's deep voice rumbled from the shadows. "There are a few warriors amongst us."

For the first time, she realized, she just heard his voice neither filled with contempt, nor determination, nor hatred, nor fire. And she found it was a pleasant voice, listening intently as she pretended to be occupied staring out the window. Not that they could see her. They were on the other side of the hallway.

"_Old_ warriors," Balin corrected, still sounding pessimistic.

"I would take each and every one of these dwarves over an army from the Iron Hills, for when I called upon them they answered. Honor. Loyalty. A willing heart. I can ask no more than that," his voice was so earnest, so full of hope and love for his dwarves that her heart ached to be one of them. It was impossible with one such as Thorin Oakenshield to not long for his approval. For she saw that once his trust was won, it was not easily broken. He had faults, as all creatures do, yet his fault of pride and stubbornness was, as with all faults, a flipped coin. His pride gave him honor and his stubbornness, courage, and being a dwarf, both were strengthened past the ability of both men and elves. Dwarves were notorious for their strong feelings. None could hate like a dwarf. None could love like a dwarf.

"You don't have to do this," Balin's voice was strained, concerned even. Once again, she knew these dwarves were great friends, though even that term was too light. They seemed to be near brothers, except for the fact that Thorin was still undoubtedly Balin's leader. A better word would be confidant, for Thorin seemed to want Balin's approval in important matters. "You have a choice. You've done honorably by our people. You've created a new life for us in the Blue Mountains; a life of peace and plenty; a life worth more than all the gold of Erebor."

She could see it now. It wasn't hard to piece together. She had seen the map, above the Lonely Mountain had been drawn in ink red as blood, a fire breathing dragon. Also, Bofur had accurately described it to poor Bilbo. She could see Thorin, the young dwarf prince, taking the heavy mantle of leadership upon his shoulders, working to guarantee his people's safety. Working to give them a home to live in peace.

"From my grandfather to my father, _this_ has come down to me," she imagined he was speaking of the key. "They dreamed of the day when the dwarves of Erebor would reclaim their homeland. There is no choice, Balin… not for me." She sighed, knowing this could only have been his answer. If her interpretation of him was correct, he would never be able to let his pride rest until the mountain was his peoples' again.

"Then we are with you, laddie." There was the sound of a shoulder clap, and she could just see Balin's affectionate gesture. "We shall see it done."

They were loyal, these dwarves, to their leader. Thorin commanded their loyalty, yet they gave it freely, for Thorin inspired it. They would lay down their lives for their king. _And he might just demand it_, she thought dryly.

She began to be lost in her thoughts, her chin propped on her hand. Her thoughts took no particular path, but she simply remembered her life. She remembered last summer's party. She remembered the time she was nearly drowned in the Brandywine River after stealing an old farmer's boat. She remembered the time she had strayed so far into the woods on the borders of Buckland that she had come across a pack of wild wolves. She had escaped by climbing into the trees, but she had been trapped there for half of a day and a night, cold and cramped in the chill spring damp. A smile came to her lips when she remembered how she had been saved. A lone Ranger had come, driving away the wolves by fire and climbing up the tree to pull her cramped little body down. He had given her a warm cloak, hot stew, warm ale, and good company by his little fire.

She cherished that memory. It was a time when she had been happy, sitting in the wilds with a stranger who had saved her life. He told her many stories of lands far away, stories which she had always sought with a vengeance, but no other hobbits in the quaint little Shire knew or cared about. When she asked how he had found her, he was quiet for a moment. Then he told her that he was always watching, always protecting their little borders from wolves and brigands, though no one ever saw him in the shadows. The next day he took her to the borders of the forest and left her by the gate to find her way home despite her pleas to allow her to travel with him. He had smiled, but gently refused. She begged him for a name, and after a moment of thought, told her to remember him as _Beriothien_, and then he was gone. She had never seen him again, but often imagined him in the shadows of the Buckland border, protecting her and the little village, their unseen guardian.

When she went back, she had suffered a beating for her tardiness, but no matter how the landlady shrieked and stuck her; the pleasant, secret smile on Aneira's face would not depart.

Suddenly, she started out of her reverie to find the dwarf with the three-peaked triangle hair not far from her corner, and more were filtering in. She felt trapped, knowing she couldn't escape undetected, but unsure if it would be rude to simply walk out. So, in her indecision, she stayed put, tucking her knees in even farther and resting her head in her arms, which were propped on her knees, overall just trying to make herself a little as possible. She remained completely still, listening to the quiet, heavy footsteps of the dwarves as more and more entered.

She couldn't be sure when it started, or if it even started, but a low humming, barely noticeable at first, began, until it swelled with more deep voices. It stirred her heart, calling to deep caverns and dark dungeons, shining gold and glistening gems. To the home of the dwarves, to their pride as a race. It spoke of their pain, their heartbreak as one people.

When Thorin's deep voice began the first lines, she felt mesmerized. The smoke of all their pipes scented the air and the golden-red glow of the fire dimly lit the haze. It went to her head and she began to feel drowsy. She could almost imagine the dragon's fire, smoke burning into the breeze. She felt she could almost hear the screams of the ghosts in the great halls, now desolate and guarded by a fierce danger. She could also feel the longing, the remembrance in the dwarves' voices. She felt the sacredness of this song, for it was more than a song; it was a lament.

Her eyelids drooped, the visions behind her eyes. The last she remembered was the crackle of the little fire and the heavy silence after the song before she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

She woke slowly, her eyelids gradually prying open as the heaviness of her sleep lifted like a fog from her mind. Gazing about groggily, she furrowed her brow. This was not her dormitory. This was Bilbo's living room. Suddenly, remembrance of the day's events came to her in a wave. She woke completely and with a start. Her eyes darted to Bilbo's clock on his shiny mantel piece. It was half past twelve in the morning. The little room was dark, the fire having reduced to embers. All around her could be heard the snores of sleeping dwarves.

She had been lulled asleep nearly three hours ago, but she silently thanked the Valar that she had woken. Gently easing herself out of her chair, she looked about and saw dwarves dotting the rooms. Some on the floor, some curled on couches, others in corners, but all seemed to be fast asleep. Stepping carefully over a prone form, whose it belonged to she did not know, she continued on to the hallway. She cast one quick glance about her, and finding no dwarves awake, gently opened the door. It groaned in protest and she winced, but the dwarves' snores and breathing were so loud it seemed to drown out the noise. She heard no shifts, so continued on, softly latching it behind her.

What she did not know was a pair of keen eyes had observed her from a dark corner.

Stepping out into the summer night, she breathed the fresh air and shook back her head. She felt as if she was shedding the haze of sleepiness and enchantment that was settled inside the warm smial. Then she took off down the path, turning the corner and going out of sight.

She jumped pasture fences and ran across moonlight bathed fields, her steady feet knowing the way. She ducked through bushes and jumped streams until she cut across the last field to an empty looking house. Yes, it was a house in Hobbiton, not a hole, but it was not a pretty house either. In contrast to the pretty little hills of the Shire and the little doors peeking out from around it, all flowing and smooth, this house rose, its walls stark white and cold against the green grass. Curtains fluttered despondently in the dark, open windows, giving it the look of an eerie haunt for cold things.

She ran towards it without breaking a stride and came to its back. There was a lattice with a few spindly dying vines. Perhaps a rose bush was planted there once, but it had soon died and all that remained were its thorny branches. They scraped her hands, but she took no notice, stepping assuredly and quickly as if she had done this many times. She climbed to the second story window (also an abnormality in the Shire. As a rule, houses were only one story, but this added to its sinister feel amongst the Halflings) which was also open, and climbed into the dark room. The only light came in through the moon, casting much of the room into shadow. She paused for a moment, sensing a presence that was unwelcome.

Her eyes widened momentarily before she ducked to the side. A hand from the shadows swooshed above her head, its fat fingers grasping at thin air. Whipping around, Aneira's face contorted into fear as she saw who was waiting for her.

Before she could move, the whistle of a stick through the air could be heard before the sound of it hitting flesh followed. Aneira fell to the ground with a cry, clutching her cheek. A woman hobbit stepped from the corner, holding a witch-hazel green stick in her plump yet strong fingers. Aneira looked up, a hand to her cheek and tears glistening from the moonlight, unshed in her frightened green eyes.

"Did you think I would miss your presence, my dear?" the woman asked. Her face was still covered in the shadow cast by the window to her back. Aneira did not respond, knowing too well that there was nothing she could say in her defense. The woman bent down, her leering face inches from Aneira's. "Did you?" she sneered.

At Aneira's stubborn silence, she let out a snarl and roughly grabbed her arm, hauling her to her feet. She raised the stick again, bringing it down hard upon Aneira's back over and over again. Aneira stayed silent, but not passive. She wiggled and squirmed, trying to avoid the brunt of the hits, but the woman's hands were far too strong. "Long have I sacrificed my time and energy for you miserable, homeless, friendless, little rats, and how do you repay me? Staying out late, fraternizing with other, _respectable_ hobbits, far above your station in life. I ask simply that you obey my rules, and love me in return for all the work I do for you, but it is obviously far too hard for your thick skulls. So," she let out a breath, letting the stick whistle again, "you leave me no choice but to beat submission into you."

Aneira bit her lip obstinately, furrowing her brow and scrunching her face in pain. She had seen many other children beaten and she knew that if she pleaded, if she begged for mercy, this hag would soon give it, but not from the kindness of her bitter heart. She would give it because she felt the power of making another being cower to her, admitting her dominance over them. Aneira would not give her this satisfaction, but a plan was forming in her mind.

She waited until right after one of her strokes when her arm was down so as to give her a longer window to act. She lunged forward and grabbed the arm holding her own, clenching it between her sharp teeth. The woman screamed in rage and fury, pushing Aneira away as if she were on fire. Aneira spat out this woman's metallic tasting blood and a bit of her fatty flesh, and disgustedly wiped her mouth with her hands, but she was not finished. She lunged, tackling the woman to the floor and held the woman's throat in a choke lock between her hands, strangling the life out of her. It felt good, she suddenly realized, having the woman, who made her years so dark and miserable, gasping for breath and hurting by her hands. Aneira looked down at the woman, whose features were now showing in the moonlight. Her cheeks were fat and droopy, falling down and mingling with her double chin. Her waist was large and straining against the corset ribbons, especially now as she panted. Her nose was manly and hooked, long and crooked, while her eyes were small, mean, beady, greedy little things. Her hair was frizzy and gray, sticking out in all directions. Overall, she was a repulsing creature.

But as Aneira expected, the woman was stronger than her, much stronger, and she unseated her from sheer strength. The landlady rose, shrieking with terror and Aneira followed, snarling and feral as she could manage. The woman ran out of the room, slamming the door behind her. Aneira bashed herself against it, as if possessed by some demon and intent on destroying the old hag. She heard the jingle of the landlady's keys, latching the door into place, before she took off with screams of, "demon child!"

Without further delay, Aneira went to the bed nearest the window and scooped up the meager possession underneath them and shoved them into a worn, woven sack with holes. It had an almost-worn-through shoulder strap which she slung around her body. She grabbed a leather pouch and threw it around her neck before climbing onto the window sill. She was just about to start climbing down when she heard the footsteps of the landlady and the heavier footsteps of a man who could only be the landlord. The landlady's muffled voice could be heard through the door, "—and then she just jumped on me and started to strangle me! I swear as sure as Old Took lived she would have killed me if I hadn't escaped!"

The jingle of the keys could be heard in the door lock, so without a second thought, Aneira jumped out of the window. She vaguely heard a shout behind her, but a more pressing matter was on her mind. The matter that she was falling a good seven feet with only four feet of height. Her breath hitched as the soles of her feet slammed into the ground. She rolled to absorb the majority of the impact, but a crunch could still be heard in her ankle.

She jumped up, taking off at a sprint for the line of trees from which she'd come. "There she goes! Someone! Stop her, quick! Before she gets away!" But she paid them no head. Neither of the old folk could catch her, and the only boy fast enough and nasty enough to actually chase after her was off on business for the landlord in Buckland. His name was Billy Foyer. She thanked her lucky stars, for she was sure that lad would chase after her without a doubt just to drag her back out of spite. The only other children left were all her little friends, who would never dream of betraying her, and they were all so tiny and pinched from hunger that none of them could catch her anyways.

She felt a pang of guilt when she realized she was leaving them to the hand of the landlady and Foyer without her to protect them anymore. All those little, dirty faces pleading just to be loved. She shook her head. _Now is no time for regrets. You can look after them when… if… you come back_.

She continued to run, but the pain in her ankle began to grow. She blew out her breath irritably. _I haven't even started the journey yet and I have already injured myself._ But she continued to run the way she came until she rounded the bend in the road and Bilbo's homey smial came into view. The first word in her mind was safety. They would never look for her there, and if they did make the effort to alert half the Shire of her disappearance, she would be long gone, and possibly dead, in the wilds.

She didn't take the time to open his gate, but simply jumped it, regretting her decision as soon as she landed on her ankle, but continued up his steps. She paused outside the door, trying to steady her breathing and her shaking hands. The sprint had strained her, and her ankle hurt more than she cared to admit.

With her breathing under control, she rested her hand on the doorknob for a moment before gently turning it. It swung open with the necessary groans and she slipped in, shutting it behind her just as noiselessly as she had left. She paused again, looking over the dwarves from her vantage point in the hallway. They all appeared to be soundly asleep, right where she had left them. She decided it would be best to pack food, so she began to creep down the hall to a second pantry of Bilbo's that had luckily never been found by the dwarves.

She was just sneaking past, when a voice nearly made her jump out of her skin with a gasp.

"Where did you go to?"

There was no mistaking it. She swung around to find Thorin sitting on a bench in the shadows, resting easily with his back against the curved hobbit-hole wall. The embers of his pipe glowed faintly, eerily illuminating half of his face. He was not looking at her, but down, at what she did not know, nor did she care.

"How long have you been there?" she hissed, her voice in a shrill whisper.

"Long enough," he countered, raising his eyes to hers. His voice was quiet, but it did not need volume to carry. She did not know what to say, so she said nothing, standing there feeling quite like a child caught stealing. "Where did you go to?" he repeated, but his tone was more dangerous.

_Do not act guilty and he will not treat you as such_. She smiled easily, relaxing her posture, "to gather my pack. You said we leave at dawn, did you not?"

"Aye, I did," here he stood up quietly and slowly. She swallowed nervously, but kept her cool grin. He walked forward, his arms crossed, until he was but a foot away. His mass was so much greater than hers that she couldn't help but feel edgy. He made no threatening movements, nor did his face betray any mal intent, only cold distrust mixed with disregard.

At his silence, she felt defensive. "Then what, _master dwarf_, is the sin of gathering my pack?" she asked snappishly.

He observed her face for a moment before speaking, "who did you encounter?

She frowned. "I encountered no one."

"Then where did that weal upon your face appear from?" He questioned, one eyebrow raised.

Her eyes widened and her hand flew to her cheek to find that there was indeed a welt. The switch had missed her eye, but there was no doubting the mark's swelling presence upon cheek bone. She dropped her hand. There was no use in trying to hide what he had already seen. She had completely forgotten about it, for its pain paled compared to that of her ankle. She laughed quietly, as if in self-deprecating humor. "I see your confusion. I was clumsy is all. There was a rather large rock I did not see, only to fall and cut myself on another." She winced internally at her explanation, for it rang false in her ears, and she knew it would in his as well.

A hard smile turned up half of his face. "I have never seen any rock to create so clean a welt. There is no ragged skin." Without warning, he leaned forward and grasped her wrist. She jumped back, but it was too late, for her ankle slowed her. Facing her palm up, she could only stand there as she felt his rough finger trace her palm. "Nor are any cuts on your palm from catching yourself." He dropped her hand and it fell limply to her side. His eyes were cold and dangerous. Her heart was racing and she knew her game was up. "Now tell me, who could you possibly have been meeting at a night such as this?"

Suddenly, it dawned on her, and her mouth went dry with fear. To him, this was no simple, temporary departure. She had gone and met with someone and they had stuck her, she knew he knew that much, for how else could she acquire such a welt? Indeed, to any it would appear she had left for some midnight meeting with an unsavory character, and what other time better, if she would indeed betray him, to do it than right before the departure of the company? He had already made it clear he did not trust such a minx as herself not to make mischief with the information she had.

Lies came quickly to her tongue. She could say she had gone to her folks to get supplies, which was more or less true, until she remembered she had told him that she was staying with Bilbo. She should already have had her supplies. She could say she had gone to the baker to pay for some extra bread, and he, mistaking her for a vagabond skulking around his shop in the wee hours of the morning, had struck her. This wouldn't be an absolute fallacy, as he probably would strike her on sight for the many times she had snitched his loaves. She could say she had tried trading with some peddlers for extra clothes, and that a small disagreement over the price had ended in a slight brawl. She could say this she could say that…

But under his keen eyes which demanded the truth, the falsehoods would not come to her tongue. The silence stretched on, until it was far too late to come up with any fibs. Unless…

With a resigned sigh, she let her bag fall from her shoulder. "Very well, you've caught me. If it is the truth you seek, than I shall give it to you." His eyes distrustfully followed her movements as she lowered herself onto a bench. "My family is poor. You have probably been wondering at the lack of traveling equipment and my ragged clothes. I came to Bilbo this evening with nothing. My parent's strain is great to feed all the hungry mouths of me and my eight other siblings. I thought that perhaps by swallowing my pride and coming to Bilbo, I may save them and my little brothers and sisters from destitution. As you can see, he is a very well-to-do, comfortable gentle-hobbit, and it would cost him barely anything to be a much needed benefactor to a distant relation.

"But he is not my only relation. I did not feel I could ask any more of his help than I already will in asking him to care for my family in my absence. So, I left to go to the door of another, more unsavory relative, who did owe me a small favor for clearing up a… domestic problem of hers," here she smiled knowingly, as if enjoying her own, private joke. "But she seemed to disagree on the size of payment I intended to collect. So I ended up with this measly bag," here she held it up with a scrunched nose, "and hardly any worth-while clothes. Perhaps I can ask Bilbo's help as far as that goes," she added, musing to herself.

"I can hardly think any would be able to swindle a single penny off you," Thorin remarked dryly.

She flashed him as impish a smile as she could manage, "Indeed, hardly anyone. Save perhaps one's own kin who is more learned and experienced in the ways of swindle and fraud and from which you learned all. It seems that Bilbo was in fact passed over by this gene. He's far too home-loving. It does not surprise me that he refused Gandalf's opportunity of adventure." She widened her eyes innocently and drew out her words with an exaggerated flourish, "though aren't you so-oo very glad you had a spare burglar?"

His face remained unimpressed. He did not need to be reminded of that fact. "Gather your supplies. Be sure you are ready to depart at dawn. The company will not wait for stragglers," he warned before turning and disappearing down the dark corridor. As soon as she was sure he was gone, she let out a sigh of relief and slumped her shoulders against the wall. Apparently her explanation had rung true enough for even the dwarf king.

_Is he a king? No, he's an exiled king. I suppose that makes him a king without a crown, or a kingdom for that matter. And what is a king without both of those? Although, I would say it makes him no less _kingly. _He embodies the word exiled, I presume. He has no place, is not able to be fitted into a category. But that's why we are facing certain death, is it not? To return what is rightfully his?_

Pushing off the wall, she quickly found Bilbo's larder and filled her bag as far as it could go. Then found a nice, quiet, warm corner and a cozy blanket, where she curled and fell asleep in her vigil for the coming of dawn, and the departure of this ill-starred company.


End file.
